


Lost Boy

by Bubonicc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fingering, Hallucinations, M/M, More Hurt Than Comfort, Progressing depression, Start of exile, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, emotional distress, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubonicc/pseuds/Bubonicc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't seem so bad at first, being all alone with nothing but the stars around you. Maybe he could have found peace in it, if his mind would just stop haunting him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for:[officialthundercrash](http://officialthundercrash.tumblr.com/)  
> 

At first it hadn't seemed too bad, his exile that is. Alone on a small ship, nothing but him and the stars around him provided him with a certain kind of quiet he hadn't thought he needed. It housed a special kind of peace he had been without for a long time, and reconnecting with it seemed to breathe a fresh gust of air through his frame.

        Unlike the bustling Lost Light, Drift's little ship was docile and calm. Outside the cabin he heard no joyful shrieks about movie night and the annoying knock on his door that would follow shortly after. Despite him always denying movie night, the mini bot crowds always passed by and offered at the end of the week.

        If there was anything he was going to miss, it would be the bar. It wasn't that he didn't have enough Enjex to dull his senses when he needed it; it was more so the lack of small talk he would get here alone rather than next to someone like Cyclonus. He would miss that, he would miss Cyclonus' disinterest, Swerve cleaning the same glass for ten minutes, Ten walking around delivering drinks, and Ratchet sitting to his left.  Ratchet always sat to his left, always ordered a drink for himself and Drift and together they would chat. He hadn't realized how much those few hours every weekend had meant to him until he was slumped down in the captain's chair, steering his little ship into the empty abyss of space.

        It had taken him a few days to come within range of a planet's magnetic signature, pinging to him that it was only a few more hours of a ride before he could enter its atmosphere if he so choose, and being antsy at this point from sitting around with nothing but his thoughts, he chose to land.

        The planetary scan confirmed that the planet was mostly uninhabited with only a handful of wildlife but no signs of intelligent life. Perhaps this was a good thing, or at first it seemed like it had been a good thing.

        Finding a clearing and sitting in it, Drift crossed his legs, closed his optics, and focused. One deep inhale, held in for a few seconds, then a drawn out exhale as he focused on the land around him. Whenever he heard something snap or distant bugs chirping, his finials would twitch up in attention.

        For a while, this meditation seemed to work at calming and clearing his mind, banishing foul thoughts of his last few nights on the Lost Light before he was thrown aside. For a while he forgot how heavy his spark had become when he saw the look of disappointment on Ratchet's face. For a while it made him forget how much it hurt.

        _Drift_

        As if someone's lips were right against the side of his finial, Drift snapped his optics open and looked to the side. Half expecting to see Ratchet sitting right next to him, he was a little disoriented when he saw some sort of alien deer graze only a few feet away. It looked up at him for only a moment before dipping its head down and continuing to graze.

        "Ratch-" Rubbing the middle of his finial, Drift looked over his shoulder, then back to the deer who was still ignoring him. He could have _sworn_ he felt Ratchet's lips by his head, and yet, he wasn't here.

        Standing up and brushing himself off, Drift stretched and looked around the clearing one more time as if Ratchet would be there this time, but still nothing. Maybe he had been sitting out in the sun a little too long, or maybe he was just tired, either way he decided it was best to head back to the ship.

      

* * *

 

 

        Recharge became difficult to come by as the days passed. It didn't seem to be because of the rickety little berth the ship had built into it, nor the fact that it was freezing some nights, but more so his mind never seemed to just... stop.

        Thought after thought, he was kept up at night by the noise in his own mind, the same thoughts running back and forth through his processor even when he seemed to have a solution for them they always came back with more questions to plague him with. Meditation during the day became ineffective to quiet him, and he was at the point he all together came to a stop.

        _Do they miss me?_

        He shifted on his berth uneasily as he recalled the crew throwing things at him, and he hadn't realized he was rubbing the spot on the side of his finial where he had been struck by a can. It throbbed as if he had just been hit, even though it had been weeks ago at this point.

        It still hurt.

        No, they didn't want him back. The crowd that had gathered and taunted him and cussed him out as he tried to leave didn't want him back. Even if this all was just to cover for Rodimus, they didn't want him back. The crew's hatred was real, and it was directed at him. He deserved it, for everything he had done, he deserved it. Even if Ratchet tried to shield him, helped him up, and gave him that look... that look that made his spark jump into his intake... he deserved it.

        Sliding his hand down his finial, Drift rubbed the top of his hand under his nose and sniffled.  He needed to get up, but his frame felt weak, unwilling, and just exhausted. For hours he would just lay there, letting the ship float in whatever direction he had last let it Drift off into. There was no reason for him to get up, and for a while he was fine with that, at least until his HUD popped up warning him his energon levels were too low.

        Dragging himself up to pour two glasses of Enjex, he would down them, wipe his mouth, and lie back down immediately, wishing he could just become one with the berth.  Or at least be able to recharge some of this time away.

        Though there were times he wasn't sure if he was awake and everything around him was just a vivid dream. Everything looked the same, but he constantly lost track of time, not that time at this point mattered to him anymore when he really had no way to spend it.

        At night, he could have sworn he felt someone in the cabin, standing close to his rickety berth while he tried to sleep. At first he had played it off to just some sort of draft, but he was certain he felt a hand costing up the blanket.

        It was gentle, rubbing all the way up his spinal strut, his neck, and coming to a rest on one of his finials. The hand rubbed it in a way he found familiar, exactly the way Ratchet would rub it when he didn't feel good.

        Most of the time when he looked up he never saw anything, but every few nights his tired optics would register Ratchet standing by the berth.

        It would surprise him, and when he blinked, Ratchet was gone.

 

* * *

 

For months he could have sworn he heard Ratchet's voice coming from his ship’s HUD, calling to him. The medic's voice always sounded like it was a million miles away, and when Drift picked up the line, it was always silent.

        Sometimes it would be days before he could hear the com click to life and Ratchet's voice wheeze through the speakers. Always so soft, telling him to stop being so lazy and get up. He wasn't sure what scared him more, hearing Ratchet's voice as if he was standing right next to him, or watching the com channel flat line because nobody was talking through it.

        The day the line bounced and a voice bounced across the line that didn't belong to Ratchet startled Drift nearly half to death.

        He was relieved when it happened even though it was just a distress call from a nearby planet. Organics needing help defending their little colonies from a threat Drift wasn't so sure about. That didn't matter.

        So starved for contact at this point, he answered the calls, defending little villages from other organics and occasionally other robots.

        It provided him with a well enough distraction from his mind that he almost couldn't feel how terrible his frame ached when he fought. It kept his mind occupied on his sword and on winning and having these weird little things dance around him and chant happily. It was gratifying, at least at first.

        Much like his meditating, it grew old, and he was left unsatisfied.  When he fought there was no rush, just the crushing feeling that when he was done he would still be heading back to a ship with nobody on it. He would lie down at night and be alone, wake up alone, what was the point.

        Plagued by thoughts, he fought with a heavy frame, sloppy and unfocused, resulting in getting himself wounded.

        The gash across his arm would not kill him, but enough of the plating and cables under it had been cut open. Two of his fingers struggled to function due to the gash, preventing him from ignoring it and letting his body do the work for him.

        It didn't seem like a hard fix, and he did have basic medical training like any and all bots whoever stepped foot on a battlefield, but as he sat down at the work station built into his ship, he really wished he had Ratchet right about now.

        _You're an idiot._

        Drift furrowed his brow as he dug clamps into his wounds, struggling to get the wires in place so he could splice them back together.

        _You're going to get yourself killed at this rate._

        He could hear Ratchet, and there was that little tickle at the side of his finial again, as if his lips were right there. When he glanced to the side expecting to see Ratchet again, he just growled when nothing was there.

        Picking up another tool to burn the wires together, Drift turned it on and dove in, immediately burning himself.  

        _Why did you take the blame? Look at your sorry aft now. Look at it!_

He burned himself again and cursed, his spark pounding in his chest as Ratchet's voice grew louder and louder by his head.

        _You're an idiot._

        "Stop it!" Standing up and whirling around, Drift looked all over the cabin, and then turned back to his table of tools. Slamming his fists down, he screamed, swiping them all off of the table to send them flying around the room.

        Nostrils flaring, Drift's chest heaved as he looked around and listened. Quiet, he couldn't hear Ratchet anymore.

        Falling back into his chair, trying to catch his breath and figure out what the hell all of this was; Drift felt a knot suddenly lodge in his intake. His optics stung as coolant welled up and spilled down his cheeks before he could stop it.

        "I know."

 

* * *

 

_Drift._

        Optics flickering to life, Drift withdrew himself from his rare recharge. He shifted, mumbled into his pillow and let his optics dim back offline.

        _Drift._

Gentle servos brushed across Drift's cheek, drawing him back out of his recharge a second time. He waited, his finials perking up to listen, he had gotten so used to hearing noises that he didn't react anymore. He didn't have the energy for it at this point.

        Rolling over, Drift sighed into his pillow, suddenly feeling something hard against him. He kicked out his leg to push whatever it was off the berth that he might have left there, but it didn't budge.

        _Drift, look at me._

        "No." Drift responded, feeling gentle servos touch his cheek again. "I'm tired of you not being there.” He squeezed his optics shut harder, wrinkling his nose at it burned.

        _Drift._

Spark pounding, Drift opened his optics, his vision blurred with tears as he expected to look past what was in front of him into his empty ship cabin, but instead... he was left speechless.

        Lying across from him, squished onto the other half of the rickety berth... was Ratchet. Head on the other end of Drift's pillow, he smiled at Drift's confused look. His look only increased when he reached over and used his thumb to brush the tears off his face.

        He felt that... he could _feel_ Ratchet. Was he real? Or was his mind just playing a cruel joke on him after all this time of solitude.

        "Ratchet," Drift's voice was suddenly dry as he examined every inch of the medic’s face, "is that you? Is that _really_ you?" His voice cracked, and for some reason all he could focus on was the feeling of Ratchet's hand on his cheek. "Please be real... _please... please be real._ " Squeezing his optics shut and slapping his hand over the hand Ratchet had on his cheek, he felt his spark flutter when he felt Ratchet. He squeezed his hand as hard as he could, and he felt it. "Is it really you?" Coolant poured from his optics, blurring his vision of the doctor in front of him who tried his best to wipe as much of the tears away.

        "It's me." His voice was soft, gentle even, lulling Drift into a small choked sob as he pressed into him and hugged him. It had never felt so good to be against him, to inhale his scent again. All of this seemed so far away at this point.

        It had been a year now, and all of this seemed too far gone to reach again.

        "I missed you, Ratchet. I missed you so much. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His finials sagged to their lowest point, and Ratchet reached out and stroked them while under the covers his free hand rubbed slow circles against Drift's chestplate.

        "You don't have to be sorry. I'm here now. I'm here."

        "I'm sorry." His optics flooded over again, relishing Ratchet's contact.

        "I'm here now." Leaning forwards, Ratchet pressed his lips to the side of Drift's mouth, kissing the corner lovingly. He kissed again, this time placing a tender kiss on Drift's quivering lips. Another kiss and Drift's lips were more firm, and then again.

        "I missed... you." Drift said as their mouths came together, at first lovingly, and then hungrily. "I missed you so much." Drift panted into Ratchet's open mouth. "I missed you." Cheeks heating up, Drift groaned as he felt Ratchet's free hand hook around the small of his back, sliding him across the gap to press the two of their frames together. "Mhm~"

        "Shh..." Nosing Drift's head to the side, Ratchet kissed a path down Drift's chin all the way to his neck. He rained kisses down on smaller cables, pausing on large ones to mouth over them and suckle.

        Below the covers, Ratchet's free hand groped at Drift's modesty plate, fingering the seams of the hatch to the point he had Drift moaning with need into his shoulder.

        He had almost forgotten how good something like this could feel. It had been so long since even he had touched himself, that he felt embarrassed at the loud mewls he was sputtering out each time Ratchet dug his servos into his panel.

        "Please." Drift whined, shivering against the CMO. "Please." Pushing his hips into Ratchet’s hand, Drift's panel clicked open and his valve came to rest in the medic's palm.

        When Ratchet gave his plush valve a squeeze, he stiffened, whined, and buried his face further into the medic's shoulder. He could hear Ratchet grunt; seeming to enjoy his reactions as he slipped his fingers through the sticky valve folds. The longer he played, the wetter Drift seemed to get. The moment he touched his outer node, the swordsmech bucked against him, gasping into his neck and grabbing his arms for purchase.

        "R-Ratch~!"

        "Shh." Slipping his middle finger down, Ratchet inserted it to the last knuckle in one quick flick of his wrist.

        Drift lurched against him, mewling out as his valve clenched around the digit. Mesh walls fervently wiggled around the intrusion, delighted it was there, wanting nothing more than for Ratchet to move, and move he did.

He kept the pace steady, not too fast, but not too slow, just enough to keep Drift on edge against him while his own arousal boiled behind his plating. He grew hotter the longer he watched Drift, purring as the samurai lifted one thick thigh to allow Ratchet's hand better access to his valve.

        A second finger and he hooked them, pushing deeper into the mech before him and muffling his pleasured sobs with kiss after kiss.

        "R-Ratch! oh Ratch~! I... I can't hold on. I can't!" It had been too long, and he was out of practice. His finials sagged, and he scrunched his nose, feeling overload swelling all around his valve. He wiled, letting out a wet sob as it crashed into him hard.

        His hips lurched awkwardly into Ratchet's hand, then backwards, but Ratchet's hand followed. Fingering Drift through his overload, Ratchet returned his mouth to one of Drift's neck cables.

        Sagging against the doctor, a hot and panting mess, Drift opened his blurry optics, relieved to see Ratchet still in front of him.  He could feel the heat from his open panel now, radiating over his still throbbing and biting valve.

        Sweat covered cheeks glistened in the low light as Drift moved forwards, kissing at Ratchet's lower lip, then the corner of his mouth.

        Reaching down between them, Drift rested the palm of his hand on the head of Ratchet's spike. Rubbing, he stroked it once, twice, and then lifted his leg again. The sheets rose, and Ratchet glanced down, catching a peek at Drift's swollen and extremely needy valve.

        "I missed you." Drift groaned into his mouth as he kissed him, his optics glossy with lust. "I missed you so much." They shifted together, and Drift felt his fans sputter as Ratchet's spike nosed the bottom of his valve. "O-oh frag Ratch... yes... please-" He clenched his denta, feeling Ratchet's spike head breach his valve ring. Two servos and one overload hadn't been enough to stretch him, but at this point he was so desperate for contact he would bite past the burn.

        "R-Ratch." The first thrust nearly knocked Drift silly, he could have sworn he saw stars dance across his vision field when Ratchet's spike pushed his valve mesh apart and poked the top of his valve. "Mnm!~" Another one, and Drift bounced gently against his medic. "M-more, please... more Ratchet." The next thrust was a bit harder, pushing Drift's frame up even harder and making him squeak into the medic's neck cables.

        His valve sputtered, oozing out thick globs of lubricant as his own arousal was getting the better of him. Only two thrusts in and he was going to overload. It didn't matter, as long as Ratchet was here, as long as he was kissing him and shushing him, he was okay. He was okay.

        "Ratch~!" A third thrust, and Drift's valve fluttered, his tank flip flopping and rolling as he tried harder than ever to keep overload at bay. A fourth thrust and Drift could hear himself gasping. " _Ratch_!" The wet slap against his valve from their hips colliding grew louder with each bump. Below Drift could feel lubricant leaking down his inner thigh, sticky and warm to stain the berth below.  

        He flopped forwards, as if Ratchet's weight was suddenly gone. His warmth, his smell, it was just all of a sudden gone.

        Hitting his face on the empty side of his pillow, Drift snapped his optics open, blinking in confusion as the space across from him was empty.

        "Ratchet?" He felt around the air, as if Ratchet was still there, just invisible. "Ratchet?" His leg was hoisted in the air, the sheets tangled around him as if he had tossed and turned all night. But he hadn't, he was just... Ratchet was...

        "No no no no!" Sitting up and throwing the sheets aside, Drift looked down at his valve, hoping there was some sign that Ratchet had been there and maybe he had just offlined when he overloaded. Right? Right?

        Wrong.

        His valve was untouched, clean, and dry.

        "Ratchet!" Getting up on legs of jelly, Drift upturned the berth, ran into every room, and opened every storage compartment, only to find nothing. "Ratchet please!" He had _felt_ him. He was _right_ there. He was! He really did feel him! He heard him!

        "Why is this happening to me?" Grabbing his finials, Drift hunched into himself, squeezing his eyes shut and begging Primus just to kill him now and to stop torturing him. Why was Ratchet haunting him? Why could he hear him all the time, why did he seem so real? Was he going insane? Had he finally lost it? Was he dead and trapped in some sort of messed up purgatory? "Ratchet, Please! _Please_!" He looked to the berth again, snagging the blanket and sobbing into it.

        It smelt only of him.  


End file.
